"Yes, love; the park is full of them; look, Maude, there are five stags beneath that oak-tree," said her sister Ellen. "What a shot that fellow with the tall antlers is!" said Johnny, leaning back from the box on which he sat, beside the coachman. "I marvel how any one has the heart to shoot a stag," said his father. "To me it seems little short of murder. I can understand hunting the fox, the wolf, or baiting the badger; but to kill deer, so innocent, so harmless, seems quite cruel." "The Captain doesn't think so," said Johnny. "I heard him say he would have a stag-hunt this autumn, and he promised I should go. How I wish this place was mine!" he continued, as a bend in the road divulged the baronial-looking old castle, with its four lofty towers,[F] standing on the green eminence in front. The whole scene was one of surpassing loveliness; the hard white road, so beautifully kept--it was level as a bowling-green--was overhung on the right by beech and oak trees, through which were gained glimpses of the park, dotted with patriarchal trees under which strayed herds of timid deer; on the left tall fir-trees clothed the steep descent to the rivulet beneath. At the foot of the park, in a large hollow, a sheet of water glistened in the sun; sedgy banks surrounded it, whilst on the surface proudly floated several swans: the majestic look of these birds as they sailed amid the numerous wild fowl was graceful in the extreme. The piping of snipes and other waders was heard among the rushes, and now and then a coot or waterhen flew along the surface, beating the still waters with its flapping wings. The castle shone white and distinct from the dark green foliage that surrounded it, and above the woods rose the blue Lammermoor hills, a fitting boundary for so fair a landscape.